


Yevgeny Makes Three

by Army C (arh581958)



Series: #GallavichWeek [12]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Baseball, Canon Compliant, Dad!Ian, Dad!Mickey, Day 5 - Gallavich as Parents, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, EMT!Ian, Fix-It, Fluff, Future, Future Fic, GW2017A, Gallavich, Gallavich Week, Jealous!Mickey, Little League Baseball, M/M, Mechanic!Mickey, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, coach!Ian, no mentions of bipolar Ian, so fluffy you could die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 19:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11088627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Army%20C
Summary: Canon-AU where in Yev plays Little League. Ian's a parent-coach volunteer. Mickey just wants a Saturday off but there's a new coach in town that his kid won't shut-up about. Needless to say, the little green monster wants to come out and show coach what's-his-name who's boss.(Or: Mickey, Ian, and Yevgeny's day in the baseball field, and Mickey's here to play.)





	Yevgeny Makes Three

**Author's Note:**

> Written for GallavichWeek2017A Series. Day 5 - Gallavich as Parents.
> 
> AU-ish but not really(?). Svetlana, for reasons I don't want to explain, is not in the picture for this story, be it because she doesn't like baseball or has separate custody days compared to Mickey and frankly because I don't care. Everything except Caleb is canon up to season 6. Mickey got a job after prison at a garage and Ian's an official EMT.
> 
> PS. Sorry for being two days late!!!
> 
> **Not Beta Read. Open for Volunteers.**

There’s a new coach in town—assistant coach, Mickey has begrudgingly reminds Ian time and time again—on Yevgeny’s little league team. No, he isn’t the least bit jealous. Not even interested, really, honest,not at fucking all. It’s just that both Ian and Yevgeny won’t shut up about _Coach Donnie_.

It’s _assistant_ fucking coach Donnie. Mickey’s just about had enough of ‘Coach Donnie did this’ or ‘Coach Donnie did that’ or ‘Coach Donnie can tie his own fucking shoe laces’. Who the fuck fucking cares about Coach-fucking-Donnie!?

All the fucking time.

All fucking summer.

Did the guy fucking pee honey and shit fucking rainbows??

Hell fucking no.

“Coach Donnie pitched a perfect game when he was in high school!” Yev declares excitedly over breakfast. Great. It’s the Donnie frequency again. Not surprising, today’s Saturday. Saturdays mean Little League practices at hours in the morning that Mickey would much rather be sleeping.

Mickey isn’t sleeping in today though.

“If he’s so fuckin’ good then why’s he coachin’ lil’ league for?” He grouses over his second cup of coffee. His shoulders are still aching from working under the hood all day yesterday. But, today’s one of his few Saturday mornings off from the garage. It’ll be the end of summer before his next one.

Ian, like he has every little league morning, had made pancakes, and serves Mickey  plate with his big dorky smile. “You know,” he says, taking Mickey’s empty mug and replacing it with orange juice, “you don’t _have_ to go. Yev and I would love having you come but you look like shit, Mick. Maybe you need some more shut-eye?”

“I fuckin’ need more syrup, s’what,” Mickey grumbles under his breath. Yev’s hogging the fake maple. “Give it here, squirt.” He motions, palms up, for the bottle.

“I ain’t short. I jus’ haven’t hit my growth spurt!” Yev complains. He clearly doesn’t want to give it. Little kid is ten, and he’s already a fucking smart-ass.

“You ain’t gonna have one.”

Ian laughs at the exchange. “Yev, give Mickey some of that. We’ll buy more if he uses it all up.”

“Hey, why’d I gots to be the bad guy?” Mickey snorts.

“Because you _always_ finish the maple!” Yevgeny retorts. “We always runs outta maple ‘cuz you don’t buys more.” Ian sends him a look, and he begrudgingly surrenders his hostage of the maple.

“I pay for that—s”

“—ah, ah,” Ian interrupts their mini-squabble. “We can buy more. Will you two quit it, already? What’s with Milkoviches and their syrup, huh? Sheesh! You’d think it was liquid gold or something.”

“It—,” Mickey starts and Yev joins in, “—fucking is.” Mickey slaps Yev on the head affectionately,”Oiy, watch yer mouth!”

“Why’s I gotta?” Yev challenges with a look that’s so utterly Mickey. He chomps on mouthful of sweet syrupy pancake. “You talk like this all the fuckin’ time.”

“Oiy!”

Ian steps in again. “C’mon, ease up, both of ya. Mick, he gets it from you. No, close your mouth, don’t even act surprised. He does.” Yev grins cockily at his dad. “As for you—,” Ian turns to Yev, and the boy deflates immediately. “—You’re not Mr. Innocent either. Can you please, please start the cussing when you like, I don’t know, twelv—thirteen-ish? Let me and Mick enjoy you being a kid for another three years. Please?”

Yev agrees of course because Ian’s got child-whispering superpowers.

“Great!” Ian says brightly. “Let’s go play some baseball!”

Mickey and Yev know not to mess with the redhead.

Crisis averted—only until they reach the pitch. By then, Mickey’s had an earful of the great baseball god also known as Coach Donnie. Lucky for him, he doesn’t believe I  gods.

Coach Donnie is a little over twenty. He’s got floppy corn-gold hair tied in a neat little man-bun at the crown of his head, squinty looking eyes, and a natural tan. He stands a head taller than Mickey and about Ian’s size. Overall, he kind reminds Mickey of pervy old Ned except younger and with more chest hair.

“Ian! Yevy, my boy! Hey, it’s good to see you,” He greets them both with a million dollar smile. He automatically zeroes in on Ian for man-hug that may or may not have lasted a second too long. “Oh,” his eyes go wide when he spots Mickey trailing behind the pair. He steps away awkwardly from Ian. “I see you’ve brought a…” He trails off with a quick glace at Mickey’s appearance, “... a friend.”

“Partner,” Mickey corrects, “Name’s Mickeh, Yevgeny’s sperm donor.” Ian cough-laughs into his hand. That’s a light way to put how Yev was made.

Donnie’s mouth opens wide. “Ahh, I see, the surrogate donor. Uhm, this is quite unexpected. I always thought Yev got his looks from his mother.” He turns to Ian, with a blush. “I didn’t think you would have difficulties, uh, performing. That’s quite alright. Many men have, erhm, some issues. Maybe I can refer you to a doctor-friend of mine, if you’re thinking of a little brother or sister for Yevy.”

At that, Ian bursts into laughter.

Mickey comes forward. “Nah, man, he _performs_ ,” he says with finger-quotes, “like a champ… if ya get what I mean.”

“Dad!” Yev yelp in understanding. “I don’t need to hear this shit. Imma go warm-up!” He stomps away with a huff.

“Language!” Ian calls after him. The redhead then turns back to Donnie. “Mickey is Yev’s biological father. He and I are raising Yev together.”

Honest-to-god hearts can be seen in Donnie’s lovesick look. “Aww, isn’t that sweet of you, Ian. You’re helping raise your friend’s son.”

Mickey wants to plant his fist into Donnie’s perfect teeth. “No,” he grits, “We are raising _our_ son together. ‘Cause fam’ly jus’ ain’t blood, ayt?“

“Mickey means together-together,” Ian slides a hand to Mickey’s bicep and squeezes reassuringly. “Like a couple, right, Mick?”

“Course. How man’ time you gotta ask, if we’re a couple or not, asshole? One ain’t enough?” Despite the language, Mickey’s tone becomes more affectionate. “I already told ya we’re a couple-couple. Why we gotta repeat words, huh? We twelve or somethin’? Thought we gonna play some ball?”

“Yes!” Ian tries to break the rising tension. He throws his puppy-dog eyes at Donnie, playing innocent. “You always said that we needed another pair of hands. So, I thought you’d be cool with Mickey helping out today. Yev’s pretty excited about it. Do you mind? I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before. Just for today. Promise.”

Donnie exhales deeply, then shakes his head disapprovingly. “Okay, but just this once. Ian, you really need to ask me first, alright? I’ll let, uh, I’m sorry I forgot your name. I am really bad with names. I don’t mean to be rude. Mike-y?”

“ _Mick_ -ey,” Mickey corrects again, hand fisting, all his instincts itching for a swing.

“Ahh, like the mouse. Disney. You watch it?”

“No.” Mickey answers darkly.

“Hey, hey,” Ian defuses, “Coach’s just trying to be friendly. Don’t start anything, Mick, please. Yev loves Little League and his teammates.” He holds Mickey by the arms, pulling gently. “Mick, c’mon, ease up. I’m sure Donnie doesn’t mean to start anything.”

“Fine.” Mickey pushes him off, huffing. “We gonna talk or we gon’play?“

Donnie smirks. “You pitch or catch?”

Mickey raises his hand, opens his mouth, but Ian regains his hold and answers instead. “Catches.”

The brunet’s temper rises even more. “What the fuck you tryin’ to pull, Gallagher.”

Ian bites his bottom lip. “Yev’s on second base. You can play catcher, right? That was your other position. We’re practicing defensive plays today. Adults get to play offense.”

That cools Mickey down. He shrugs. “Ayt. You batting?” Now, there’s innuendo there that turns Ian’s ears a little pink.

“I kinda wanna see ya take my pitches, really. Think you can take, Mick?”

“Fuck yeah.” Mickey grins.

The pair share a private smile that can be seen all the way from the pitch. It’s near the Northside. So, it’s safe. They really aren’t hiding anything out here. Anyone with a pair of eyes could see they’re basically having an eye-fuck fest. Donnie’s all forgotten.

“Aww, come on!” Yevgeny shouts from the field. “We’re wasting daylight!”

Mickey and Ian chuckle.

“Brat’s a fucking smart-ass, is what.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “Oh, you mean just like you? Yepp, I see the resemblance, Mick.” Mickey punches him in the arm for it. “Let’s warm-up and get you in gear. Getting you in it will be half the fun before taking it off later.”

Donnie blushes bright red at the blunt statement.

It’s another thirty minutes before they’re ready for the drills.

Ian practices a few variants of his pitching repertoire with Mickey. They make up their own hand signals along the way just for kicks. As it turns out, all this little league gigs have developed Ian’s nine-zone ball control. That means he can split the average strike zone into nine smaller areas.

“Think you can out this guy?” Mickey smirks.

Ian scoffs. “That’s not really the point, Mick. He needs to hit them.”

Mickey snorts as they walk to the diamond. “So, you gonna just make it easy for him, Gallagher? Stop playin’. I ain’t teaching Yev the shortcuts. Promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He winks just seconds before putting his mask down.

There are four adults on the pitch while the last one plays medic; Ian’s on the mound, Mickey’s behind home, and the head coach is acting as the umpire. Donnie’s in the right field foul-ball area, practicing stretching.

“You ready for me, Mick?” Ian yells from the pitcher’s mound.

Mickey thumps his fist against his mitt twice. “Gimme your worse, Gallagher!”

Ian throws a palmball, a changeup, then a fastball. Each pitch hits the center of Mickey’s glove with an audible _thunk_. All three in the middle lf the strike zone. The kids all cheer with ball. Clearly, he’s upped his usual game.

“I _knew_ it! I knew you could pitch faster!” Yevgeny squeals from second base. “Should have bribed dad to come sooner!”

Ian turns to Yev with a lopsided grin. “Ninety-nine percent inspiration and one percent showing off to your dad.”

“Batter up!” The head coach calls out, prompting Ian back around. “Batter ready?”

Donnie thumps the tip of the bat on the ground twice, an affirmative. Gloved hands squeeze the grips, making a low-pitched whine. Seven aspiring baseball stars perk up behind Ian.

Mickey’s proud to see Yev getting off base and into position between first and second. He signals fastball dead-center. Ian shakes his head, tips his hat down, scratching his nose. He wants to aim for bottom-right and get a strike. Mickey nods. 

Ian’s whole moves fluidly through the motions. It’s like watching a life work of art. The long lines of his body emphasize the proper form, almost graceful when he releases—poetry in motion. His arm, legs, and ass all flex deliciously under the uniform.

The ball zooms through the air.

Donne swings.

He misses.

“Strike!“

Good thing Mickey’s face-splitting grin hides behinds the catcher’s mask. He’s also a half-hard in his sweats. Luck for him, he’s got a chest plate to hide it. Standing will be a problem. He plucks the ball from his glove then throws it back to proud-looking Ian, all without standing. 

Together, they strike-out Donnie with another two pitches.

“I know you two are having fun but remember that the kids are here for practice,” the head coach reminds them.

Mickey signals for Ian to pitch slower. He thinks that they’ve already made their point. Ian serves palmballs to the center of the strike zone. The first hit rings through the air in a high-pitched echo. It pops up vertically, high above the foul line behind Mickey.

“Mickey!” and “Dad!” echo simultaneously. Ian and Yevgeny shout together, “Catch it!”

Mickey shoots up in commands, right hand peeling off the mask while the left is ready to catch. His eyes follow the ball’s curving movement. Inertia keeps it spinning in the air for a few seconds. It’s a blessing in disguise. He only has to step two, three paces back before he’s underneath it. Then, all he does it wait for it to drop.

Out! 

“Yes!” Ian and Yev exclaim.

Mickey grins smugly, right hand in a thumps-up salute for his boys in the field. Donnie’s shocked face stared back at him. He shrugs in mock humility. “Who ya think them two idiots practice with?”

“Stop boasting, boy.” Head Coach grunts, “Let’s get moving.”

Once Donnie’s back in the game, he systematically hits flyballs to each of his players starting from first base then ending with left field. The kids practice

 their rallying along the way. Then, the placements become random, keeping the boys om their toes. One even flies directly toward Ian, and of course he catches it.

“Okay ,” the head coach claps his hands. Everyone looks at him attentively. “Why done we try it with base runners.”

By then, all of them are dripping in sweat. Ian, ever unconscious, tugs on the hem of his now-dirty shirt and wipes his face. Pale washboard abs should be rated PG16. Mickey licks his lips as he watches the display. He isn’t the only one though. Donnie undresses the redhead with his eyes. Aww, hell to the fuck, no.

“Oiy,” Mickey growls with his mask on, “Turn away and I won’t end ya.”

Donnie stiffens up. “Jus’ lookin’, man.”

“Look somewhere else before ya won’ta be lookin’ no more.”

The head coach arrives back at that moment. Three more kids line up behind him. “Alright, Donald, practice swings for each of them before they bat,” he instructs.

Mickey snorts back his laugh because _Donald_. The asshole made fun of him being named like cartoon mouse. At least, Mickey’s the star of the show and not some sidekick heavily-accented sidekick who doesn’t wear pants. _Donald_ should go fucking fuck himself before Mickey fucking does it for him—fuck him up, that is.

“Hey.”

Ian slides up beside Mickey, bottle in hand sweating cold droplets. He pushes the drink to the brunet and leans close. “Got me fucking hard in my pants there, Mick. You looking fucking hot swiping that mask off like a fucking pro and your arms are killing it every time you throw me the ball. I could fuck you right here on home plate.”

“Fuck you.” Mickey shudder. Every fucking word goes straight to his cock. “You’re a fucking asshole, ya know that? Crazy motherfucking asshole.”

Ian nods his head. “You love it.”

Before Mickey can open his mouth, Yevgeny shoves himself between them looking furious. “Can you _please_ —I promise quit cussing if you two please, please stop making googly-eyes at each other for one game. One game! Is that too hard to ask? It’s getting Coach Donnie embarrassed. He can’t even hit the ball right. My teammates are already complaining. _Dad_ ,” he turns to Mickey with big puppy-dog eyes, “Please play nice.”

“What?” Yev’s words seem to have the opposite effect. “You want me to wha—t?”

Ian pull Mickey by the arm. “We both promise, Yev.” He takes a change to squeeze Mickey’s elbow. “No more goofing off. We’re gonna play to win, right, Mick?”

Mickey crosses his arms with an eyeroll. “Fuckin’ fine!”

Yev bursts into large toothy smile. “Thank you!“

Mickey sighs. Damn this kid. He’s got them eating at the palm of his hand, and they’re both powerless to stop him. That’s the parenthood talking right there.

They soon return to their places. Ian smiles brightly from the pitcher’s mound at Mickey. The three kiss are up first, one by one before Donnie bats as the sweeper. Not that he has much to sweep. Even with slower pitches, only the first kid reaches a base and that’s only because Ian had to readjust to smaller strike zone. Batter two has a habit if swinging prematurely and batter three is too nervous that he won’t even hit a basketball if he tried.

“That’s okay, Athan!” Donnie yells out to the kid in first base. “Coach Donnie’s going to bring you home!”

“Not on my watch.” Mickey grinds his teeth. He whistles to get Ian’s attention and signals a sinker for the inner bottom corner. Ian nods in acknowledge. Donnie catches in their exchange and widens his stand.

_Thud_

Strike one! 

Mickey keeps his cool while throwing back the ball.

Donnie steps out of the box with a huff, then practice swings a few times. When he steps back on, he _accidentally_ kicks dirt up. “Opps, sorry about that, bro. Happens on dry ground sometimes.”

Mickey has to mentally count back from ten to zero. He presses his thumb and middle finger together the waves to the right. Ian shakes his head, tilts it left, then rubs his ear. He wants a curve to the middle right. Mickey shakes his head and signals for a high cutter that would end up in the same place. It’s a faster, more vicious ball. Ian nods, face straight.

Donnie tightens his hold on the bat.

Ian winds up. His form still as picturesque as before. Damn, he could be a fucking baseball star with his build and stature. It’s making Mickey’s pants extremely uncomfortable. He sends the ball flying. It slices through the air with an audible swish.

Donnie swings a second too late.

_Thump_

“Damn it!” Donnue curses.  “Really?!”

“Coach Donnie! Hit the ball!” Athan from first base yells. “I need to pee!”

Mickey stands up with a chuckle. “Come on, _coach_ , you gonna let that kid pee on first base? Ain’t a pretty sight. Don’t worry. We’ll even let you hit the last one. You gotta inspire’em, right? Yo, Gallagher!” He calls to Ian.  “Let’em hit the next one, ayt?”

Ian’s vibrant laughter drifts across the field. “Whatever you say, Babe!”

“Eww!” Yev butts in, making both Mickey and Ian chuckle.

Donnie readjusts his cap. “Batter-up,” he says darkly.

Mickey hides the eye-roll behind the catcher’s mask. He waves his hand and lets Ian choose the pitch. On the field, Ian acts like he received a specific instruction. He winds up with an added flourish, leg rising for a split in the air, then throws a fastball dead in the center.

Donnie swings hard.

 _Thwack_!

The hit rings out loudly. Up, up, up, goes the ball, and over Ian’s head. Ian reaches behind him but the ball hits the ground first.

“Yev!” He shouts, prompting the boy into action.

Yevgeny swiped the ball from the ground and meets the runner between second and first, tagging Athan out. He whoops in joy, only to realize that Donnie, the cheat, has hopped over him and is barreling for second then third. Before the panic sets in, Mickey’s voice reaches him.

“Send it here, solnyshko!”

“Go, Yev, go!” Ian seconds.

Yevgeny doesn’t have time to think. He aims straight for his dad and throws with a his might. What comes after is like slow motion—Donnie passing third then heading for home, Yevgeny releasing the ball,  Mickey running two steps forward to catch it then running after the assistant coach. Mickey tackles the blond a foot’s distance away from third.

“You’re out, bitch.”

“Out!“

Donnie groans in pain. Everyone else cheers loudly at the display. The kids, for some reason, all leave their places to swarm Mickey. Yevgeny, of course, is at the head of it all. He crashes on top of Mickey with shout.

“You’re _awesome_!” He tells Mickey. “Dad, that was so cool! You tagged out Coach Donnie! You fre-aking rule!”

Ian is right behind Yevgeny, looking smug. “I told ya, Yev,” he says in a knowing tone, “You’re dad is way, _way_ better that you thought he was. Still think that I was bluffing?”

Yevgeny shakes his head. “Dad is the best!”

Mickey glances at Ian then glances at Yevgeny. He realizes belatedly that the pair had a little wager going on about him. That’s either genius or scary; he can’t decide, but Yevgeny’s smile makes the ache in his thighs worth it.

Yup, the kid’s got him hooked on this fatherhood thing. It’s not so bad at all. Ian and he might make a good pair but Yevgeny makes three sound even better. He’s pretty sure he’s more than alright with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Baseball because I can't get the picture of toddler!Yevgeny playing baseball on the exact same baseball pitch where Ian and Mickey used to find solstice in. It's kind of poetic in that way, don't you think? You can bet your socks off that Ian's going to show Mickey just how well he can _perform_ after Mickey's little BAMF baseball skills. Yev's still too innocent to know any better. Yes, I leave you with that mental image, my friends. 
> 
> If you have a prompt or an idea, you can [INSPIRE ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/submit) on tumblr. Or [TALK TO ME](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/ask)~
> 
> As always, **kudos/comments/bookmarks** are all appreciated by this author. I take comments as extra-kudos and I _do_ read the bookmark tags (some are really fun).
> 
> PS. This may or may not be part three of a domestic!Gallavich series entitled "Raising Yevgeny". *winkwink* **Find the other works on my profile, comment with Raising Yevgeny and get a _FREE STORY COMISSION_! **
> 
> PPS. Mickey calls Yevgeny "sunshine", which according to online forums is a Russian-based endearment for children. In a way, I really think it fits, and even if Yev's conception wasn't under the best circumstance, it changed Mickey to be a better man. Plus, come on, guys, he's a half-Gallagher raised by Ian! :D


End file.
